Smoking Candle
by CucumberSalad
Summary: Damon Salvatore is a showman who hates temptations. Elena Gilbert is a temptress he can't resist. She is light. He is darkness. One is bound to destroy the other. Who will enter the tomb they built together, brick by brick? The showman or the temptress? AU, all-human, one-shot.


Song: If I Was Your Vampire - Marilyn Manson

_"We built this tomb together, I will fill it alone."_

* * *

A great unkindness, when dealt unto a man, leads to things rather misfortunate. Lets say for instance, a beating, one that will lead to certain death. And the name of said deceased, we'll call Barker - first name Sean.  
Sean Barker: an innocent. However, an innocent without potential. This reasoning could be enough to convince any man that he was not wrong in ending a life, for the life would have gone nowhere.  
But when a murderer needs no reasoning nor rhyme, he kills without remorse.  
Killer: a showman, in his own right. He sings and dances and woos women; although repulsively vain he is a charmer. His dark hair is flawless, eyes a deep blue. They are of a darker shade, which adds to the mystery of his true nature. They are a part of his arsenal, these deep, blue eyes. Though, admittedly unneeded when the suave is applied.  
His voice, a seductiveness that could command a snake.  
His danger, an intrigue to the female population.  
His darkness, swallowing endless bodies.

* * *

Our heroine, an obvious foe, regretfully died a year or so ago. So in her place stands a gentle youngling, filled with love and care, albeit the strength of her mother.  
Her mother could have been the heroine, but she had to be killed. If not, how could this story begin?

* * *

The first scene: a party. The year: 2024.  
His tie is black, however the suit remains white. It is a trend in this year and he is a man who can dress. But to stand out there must be something different. And that would be the arrogance he walks with.  
He sees her in an instant, he sees them all just as fast. But, perhaps he does notice her first. For, she is everything he despises. She is a temptation.  
Disgusting.

* * *

He wants to put a dent in her, darken the lightness he sees.  
Darkness is attracted to light and therefore her light is the temptation he must defile. He has destroyed a temptress' body once, for that was the ultimate temptation then; that temptress has been the only one who has tempted him.  
Until this light entered the room.  
He senses her brightness, scrunches his nose at it even. He can practically smell it in the air.  
Horrible.

* * *

He captures her attention fast. It is easy for him, hardly a challenge. But as she looks at him now he feels somehow self-conscious.  
It's disturbing.  
He tenses, readjusting his position.  
She smiles politely, excusing herself. Her need in this moment has nothing to do with him - she spots a friend from across the room.  
This is a first.

* * *

It is quite frustrating, to be unable to do what your best at. And the showman is best in this game of cat and mouse. She should be the mouse and he, the cat. But he begins to wonder as she glances over him with those big, innocent eyes. Could he, himself, be the mouse for once?

* * *

He finds them alone, her and her blond male friend.  
He shoots the friend without consideration and proceeds to grab his prize, who dares to lay a finger on him. She doesn't succeed of course. But the attempt is enough to make him snap.  
Her face is in his hand before she can even blink.  
"Please," she says.  
Again, his body tenses.  
Those big, innocent eyes.  
He pulls her face to his. A moment's pause. Then his lips on hers.

* * *

She is unconscious in his bed as he watches her. She had cried.  
_Stupid bitch_, he thinks.  
He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a cigarette and lights it.

* * *

He is bleeding.  
She stabbed him.  
Then, she bandages his arm.  
He makes her of course because she is the one who has caused this bleeding.  
"You're skilled at this," he notes out loud, wondering inside if she has stabbed and repaired many people before him.  
Her eyes flash to his for just a moment. But just a moment is all she needs. A dark heart skips a beat.  
He looks away, trying to save his pride.  
Out of the corner of his eye he glances at her, suspiciously. Looking away, he smiles triumphantly. Those eyes, as innocent and unknowing as ever.

* * *

She has raised her voice to him, a moment of strength, he thinks praisingly before he strikes her.  
It is her turn to bleed - blood, out of the corners of her mouth to be exact.  
Again, she is crying.  
This weakness really disgusts him. His dark heart has no motivation to change its rhythm.

* * *

She has refused to move from her fetal position on the floor.  
He sees her inner light flicker.  
He is disappointed. More of a fight would have been interesting, he thinks.

* * *

He has her backed into a corner, teasing her about her weakness.  
"I'm weak?" she questions.  
It is then that he sees it.  
One side of her lip raises into a smirk.  
"Yes," he says, though now uncertain.  
She refuses to look away from his eyes, as if to say that she will never back down.  
He moves back, hardly noticeable to anyone who could witness this.  
He exhales, head tilting to the side.  
Intrigued.

* * *

He tries to run his hand up her leg and into her skirt. His fingers are gentle yet firm. They are also unwanted.  
She stabs him again. This time, with a fork to his thigh.  
He screams loudly as she kicks his chair from beneath him.  
In just seconds he is on his knees in front of her, her hand on his head.  
Slowly, she bends down so that she is at his level.  
She presses her lips to his cheek, stands and walks away.  
This lightness, he has not yet succeeded to destroy.

* * *

He is laying in his bed when she walks in, for she walks around his house as she pleases and when she pleases now.  
He is not asleep, so he looks at her, preparing to get stabbed yet again. Stabbed in his sleep, he thinks, that would be a shame to his name.  
She had been looking around his house, she explains, as she moves his blanket so that his leg is revealed. He is wearing boxers, so it is easy to see the four holes in said leg.  
She sighs quietly, sounding somewhat disappointed in herself.  
"I found some stuff to help with your wounds," she says.  
Only someone so disgustingly filled with light would feel bad for stabbing someone like him, he thinks. And even though he thinks this, his face shows something else.  
His face shows the hint of a smile.

* * *

After she finishes, she gets up to leave, because even though she is kind she can hardly stand his presence. It hurts her to heal the man who has killed her friend.  
She is almost off his bed completely when he grabs her wrist and pulls her to him. With both hands he gently touches her face and kisses her.  
It is the only kiss of its kind that he has ever given. And she is special, because she is the only one who will ever receive it.

* * *

Again, she has made him self-conscious for she is in her fetal position on the floor.  
He is a good kisser, he reasons, it couldn't be the kiss that makes her so upset.

* * *

Day two in fetal position concerns him because she has been in the same spot for just that long, two days.  
He goes to her, places his hand on her side.  
"Go away," she pleads, desperately.  
He leaves.

* * *

She gets up to go to the washroom.  
This is his only chance.  
Before she can close the door, he steps inside and pushes her against the wall. His anger, knowing no bounds even when he possibly cares about someone's well-being is enough to make him wrap his hand around her throat and squeeze.  
"I don't like to be ignored," he says.  
Those big, innocent eyes.  
He loosens his grip.  
Kisses her.  
Pulls away, looks into her eyes again.  
Where is the light?

* * *

He continues to kiss her. He cannot help it.  
He is a selfish man and even though he knows she hates kissing him, he just keeps pressing his lips to hers.  
The remnants of the little light she has left tastes good.  
He is under her control. If she says no, he will stop, possibly.  
But she never says no.  
Maybe she can't.

* * *

He sits beside her at the table. She inhales deeply, looking up at the ceiling as his hand finds her chin. He turns her head towards his own and he leans in.  
She pushes him away before his lips get too close and heads out of the room.  
His eyes widen. Will he take it as a no even if she doesn't say it?  
He doesn't want to.  
So he doesn't.

* * *

She is on the table, wrists pinned as his lips smother hers.  
He isn't gentle anymore.  
He is vicious with his kisses.  
Maybe it's because she essentially told him to go away.  
Maybe he never wants to leave her alone.

* * *

She has put him to his knees again, but this time, it is not from violence, it is all seduction. She has him, literally, on his knees.  
The look in his eyes shows her exactly what they both know. He is hers.  
He will always be hers.  
His life is hers for the taking.  
She takes it.

* * *

He will not be missed, she knows.  
She will not miss him, she knows.  
But she must admit that in a twisted sort of way, everything he did to her was enjoyable.  
She reconsiders everything.  
Maybe she will miss him, for light is attracted to darkness.


End file.
